Unforgivable
by ofb29
Summary: The prophecy is complete. Voldemort's dead. But the Wizarding world is in chaos. And Harry's in Azkaban, about to stand trial for murder. edited slightly for mistake!
1. Chapter 1

_The characters are not of my creation, they're just borrowed._

Harry has fulfilled the prophecy. Voldemort is rotting in an unmarked grave. But the Wizarding world is in chaos. A new minister for magic has been elected to bring peace in unstable times. Unfortunately his solution sees Harry in Azkaban, about to stand trial for murder.

Shattered.

That was how he felt.

Absolutely shattered.

He lay on the uncomfortable cot bed, a spring digging into his spine, staring up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling, willing his mind to sleep. But however tired he might have been, sleep was not forthcoming. He couldn't shut off his mind, couldn't stop the thoughts and feelings whirling inside him. And any thoughts that haunted him while he was awake were only ten times worse when he slept. The sleep betrayed his weaknesses, reminding him of all the memories that he had tried so hard to forget. The war. The final battle. The reason for his current incarceration in Azkaban.

At least the Dementors had never returned. Azkaban was a cruel, brutal place and that was without the soul robbing demons haunting the corridors and guarding the doors. Harry sighed, and rolled over onto his front, beating the thin excuse for a pillow into submission.

There was another reason for his restlessness. He had a continued creeping sensation under his skin, like an eternal itch that however hard he scratched only grew worse. His stomach was a knot, screwed so slightly it was painful, continuously upset, like a bag of snakes was slithering around trying to escape. The food was bad enough, but nothing much was getting far down his oesophagus. His joints ached, his head pounded; the symptoms all caused by one problem- the containment of his magic.

The Ministry had learnt something from their previous mistakes. The Dementors were gone, but a powerful shield in its place left all magic dormant, itching for release, but none possible. In the early days he could keep it under control. Could scratch the itch as it were. But the longer he was imprisoned, the more the magic grew inside of him, desperate for any kind of release.

He didn't know how long he'd been here. Time had little meaning when all he had to look at were the four walls of the cell, a dank hole in the ground for comfort, and the bed he currently residing on. Time might as well have stood still.

He had lived with the weight of the prophecy ever since he'd heard it at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. And whilst he hadn't exactly dealt with it all that well, he'd kept up his side of the bargain. He'd worked hard at becoming stronger; whilst with Ron and Hermione he'd sought out the last remaining Horcruxes. Then he'd stood alone, a single man against the might of the most powerful dark wizard alive. And he'd continued to stand, through the final spell, watching whilst Voldemort crumpled to the ground, robbed of all life.

And that was meant to be that. The prophecy had been fulfilled. The life he'd put on hold was meant to return to him then. His last year at Hogwarts, perhaps even his relationship with Ginny. Everything that had ended with his search for the Horcruxes and the final showdown with Voldemort. But the Wizarding world was still in chaos. Businesses had failed. People were still too frightened to go back to normal. Violence still abounded. And in a power vacuum at the Ministry of Magic, a young upstart by the name of Casper Williams had stepped up to the helm. Elected on his promise of peace at last, he won with a landslide. He promised that everyone who was responsible would pay. That violence would not be tolerated. And his first order of business, arresting Harry Potter for the use of an unforgivable against another wizard had shocked the Wizarding world into silence.

What followed, unbeknownst to Harry, was a hate campaign so subtle, the tide of public opinion had changed dramatically. Harry was no longer the hero of the Wizarding world. He was its downfall, daring to fight fire with fire, fighting violence with violence without seeking out a peaceful solution. He was the cause of the continued violence, why businesses failed, why many wizards and witches were out of work and why so many families continued to still suffer.

Harry could guess at what had happened. He didn't need to read the Daily Prophet's articles, or listen to the gossipmongers. He had been subject to the differing tides of opinion long before he'd stood watching Voldemort decay. After all, it had been the same people that had rubbished his claim of Voldemort's return that were once again trying to contain him.

His frustrations seemed pointless. Anger futile. But they came anyway. He'd been built up to be the saviour of the Wizarding world, the one, the only one to vanquish the Dark Lord. The people who had once upon a time begged him to kill Voldemort now wanted him to rot in hell, as if society would be so much better without him in it. But the anger, the frustration just inflamed his magic more, pushed it to its limits, so that Harry literally clawed at his skin trying to get some of it, any of it out. A useless gesture, making his skin bleed but just blood, not magic.

What of the people who had stood by him to the end? What about Hermione, Ron? Ginny, even? The Weasley family as a whole. Harry couldn't believe they'd be sucked so easily into the "I Hate Harry Potter club". But where were they then? They had certainly never been to visit. Not even a letter had been passed through the bars to him. And as the days dragged on, as time continued on its path, leaving him to rot in the cell, on the darkest of days he wondered if they'd left him as well.

What he didn't know, and perhaps it was the cruellest blow of the lot, but only family were allowed to visit the prisoners of Azkaban. And Harry Potter didn't have any family. Or, he did. But his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia had just laughed when the invitation had been extended to them.


	2. Chapter 2

_And character you recognise is not mine._

Casper Williams was a young man. At thirty, he had the sense, the ambition to run for and claim as his own the position of Minister for Magic. A prestigious title for anyone; even more so at his age. He was one of the youngest to ever run, let alone win.

The papers loved him. After all, he wasn't a bad looking chap: quite tall, short brown hair, hazel eyes. Not handsome, perhaps, not a pin up, but distinguished looking, that was what he liked to think. He cut a dashing picture in his well-made suits, his designer robes. Of course he came from a family of money. Old money. Perhaps the money more important that the pure blood trait at the moment, not that he had used that as a campaign slogan. He was a member for the public. That was his favourite; a man for the people. He knew what they wanted, and was able to go out there and make those changes for them.

Of course, times had been favourable for him. He knew what the public wanted after seeing Voldemort vanquished. The wizarding world was in chaos, and he had promised to bring order to that chaos.

He was an intelligent man. It didn't take a genius to work out that the population was living in fear. The analysts liked to write about the "power vacuum" that had allowed Casper to step into the prestigious role. With Fudge the victim of a landslide vote of no confidence, and most of the senior politicians either victims of Fudge, or Voldemort, there was very little choice for the top post. It didn't make it a bad thing that he was voted. It didn't even mean that he didn't deserve his chance at the top.

And he was ambitious in his role. He had promised sweeping changes, and he had certainly delivered. Sundown curfews, a no tolerance approach to violence. The arrest of Harry Potter.

Because Casper Williams was intelligent and certainly ambitious and he knew he had to start his career with a bang. Unfortunately, intellect, ambition were untempered by youth, and Casper Williams could certainly not be described as a wise man. His experience was brought through top education, through business school. Not life, not living through the bad times and surviving, not doing all he could do to have a life in even the darkest of times. He had done what he considered the smart thing and been in France during the second war.

It had certainly been a stunning blow for the newly elected Minister- front news for several weeks. Violence levels at their lowest since the war. He'd even managed to curtail the inevitable demonstrations, through a rash of back door laws making public demonstration illegal on the grounds of public safety. Add public safety to any law, and it was almost bound to pass through.

Casper Williams had never met Harry Potter, but like all wizards and witches, he felt he knew him. He was a teenager when Harry Potter had initially become famous. He had partied all night with the downfall of the Dark Lord, more because he was always looking for fun, rather than out of any particular strong feeling to the end of the Dark Lord's reign. There had been nothing on the Boy Who Lived for a long time, till well after it was confirmed he was attending Hogwarts. Then the by now infamous Tri-wizard tournament had thrown him back in the limelight full throttle. He had watched in wonder as a single newspaper trashed the boy; the public going from loving to hating the boy within a heart beat. The destruction of the boy's name had been impressive, and now emulated by Casper himself. Easy when the reading population believed every word reported by their loving Daily Prophet.

Of course there were people who still believed in their precious saviour. That sent him endless letters, or lobbied him daily. There were articles in almost any paper he picked up about whether it was right to punish Harry Potter for the crime of using an Unforgivable when it had been used against someone so cruel and hated as Lord Voldemort.

But alongside every article was the threat of more violence; for ever article there was doubting the authenticity of putting Harry Potter on trail, there were several on how bad society had become, the violence, the fear, all linked of course, however ambiguously to one Harry Potter. Casper Williams might not have been wise, but he was also not stupid. He knew who the most powerful wizard in the world was considered to be. And even if it wasn't true (although he strongly doubted it to be not) he knew how the public thought. Harry Potter had destroyed Lord Voldemort with a single spell. And whilst details of the spell were unknown, how could it have not been an unforgivable that had been used in the destruction of Voldemort. And whilst Casper Williams knew that people were grateful for the destruction, they still lived in fear, and as such were looking for a leader. And the only way Casper Williams knew of to get total run of the Ministry was to destroy the one hope of the Wizarding population and laud himself as the leader of the Wizarding world.

Casper Williams stood outside the door of Harry Potter's cell, watching the young man sleeping fitfully, and thought of the upcoming trial. This man would go to prison for his actions. And Casper Williams would stand in his place, the most celebrated wizard of this world.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: see chapter one. To all those who reviewed, I can only offer my thanks, and hope that you carry on enjoying._

Hermione Granger was an intelligent woman. Primarily that intellect came from one source. She loved books. She loved reading. And the older the book, the better. To her there was nothing that could compare to the feel of a well-worn book cover, the delicate nature of time worn paper, the look of old type sets. Even the smell was comforting to her. Hermione would always prefer researching in books, than using a muggle computer. The Internet might be a portal of information, but for what Hermione was looking for it was practically useless. Not that any of her books were proving much better at the moment. With Diagon Alley still closed, and Hogwarts unused, Hermione was very limited on resources for her current research project. It didn't stop her looking though. She'd even gone to her local muggle library in desperation, just in case it had something even vaguely useful. She was frustrated, and her frustration wasn't helping.

Hermione looked down at the Daily Prophet, sat propped up against a jar of marmalade, and sighed again, shaking her head. She had the same routine every morning- she got up at seven, made herself tea and toast for breakfast, and read the "news" as reported by the Daily Prophet. It didn't matter that she didn't have a job- she refused to wallow in self-pity. She might have been forced back to living in her parent's house. Even forced to look for employment in the muggle world out of desperation. But there were always people worse off than her, and one such person was never far from her mind.

Harry Potter. Her best friend. Once the celebrated saviour of the Wizarding world. Now condemned in Azkaban, the victim of an over zealous Ministry of Magic and a world that continued to live in fear of its own shadow.

Today the Daily Prophet's lead article was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before, and probably the day before that as well: the upcoming trial of Harry vs the Ministry of Magic for the use of an unforgivable against another wizard.

Hermione closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with her fingers to try and ward off the coming headache. It didn't seem fair. Hermione snorted to herself at that thought. Scratch that. It wasn't fair. Harry had lived the prophecy since he was fifteen, sealed on a fateful evening of Halloween when Harry was just a year old. A prophecy that stated _he_ was the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord; that if he couldn't kill Voldemort, then Voldemort would kill him. A kill or be killed kind of deal. And now he was the one standing trial for a killing he had basically been forced to commit.

Hermione finished her toast and picked up her tea to take through to the study. Whilst she didn't have a job, most of her energy was going into research into the coming trial. Because while she couldn't get close to Harry at the moment, it wasn't going to stop her doing everything in her power to help him out. The books had never failed her before, and she hoped they wouldn't fail her now. Or, more importantly, that they wouldn't fail Harry now. After all, the idea of how to finally kill Voldemort, the spell that had finally finished him off had come from deep within one of the oldest books Hermione had read. All she could hope was that the answers to their latest predicament were also lurking somewhere in a book as well.

She pulled open the tomb of a book currently resting on what used to be her father's desk, in her father's study. Hermione had gradually moved in, filling the desks with quills and bottles of ink and rolls of parchment. The bookcases groaned under the weight of hundreds of books. A vast collection, both Magical and Muggle, some she had collected throughout her years at Hogwarts, a lot from more recent months. She returned to a passage she had been studying yesterday, but found it harder than usual to concentrate her mind on the words before her. Instead her mind, as it frequently was these days, refused to leave Harry. Worrying about how he was coping, completely devoid of human contact, for Hermione knew that the rules of Azkaban meant only the Dursley's could rightly visit, and she couldn't see that happening any time soon. More importantly, perhaps, wondering how his magic was faring, without a release of any kind.

Hermione had found out about the shield in use at Azkaban by accident. An obscure reference, read in a report buried in the briefest of articles in the Daily Prophet had led to the discovery of the way the Wizarding world was currently controlling its prisoners in the absence of the Dementors. Mr Weasley had confirmed her idea, with the briefest of nods, his eyes betraying exactly what he thought of the shield, for all Ministry officials were sworn to secrecy about it.

Hermione being Hermione, had since learned everything she could on the containment of magic, and didn't like what she read. Magic was an energy, a living energy, that a witch or wizard could control to do some extraordinary things. It was there, right from birth, manifesting itself at a young age usually through accidental use. Heightened by emotions, the real power of magic only came into force with puberty. There were very few documented cases of what happened when the magic was forced to conform, against its will, if you like, inside a single entity. It was very rare, because the use of any type of shield powerful to contain magic was very rare (making Hermione wonder how the ministry had pulled off their shield, but that was something else entirely). Of course, over a couple of months, say for a school holiday in a child too young to legally do magic, the magic is contained in that it's not being used. But the magic still has ways to leach out, however subtlety. Being forced into a compact space, being forced to stay only caused the energy to build and build, until, basically, Hermione induced, it imploded. It could take years, of course, to build up to such a level. But the physical symptoms, an uncontrollable itching under the skin, loss of appetite, nausea, constant tiredness, lethargy helped by an insomnia not even the strongest of sleeping potions could help, could start in just a few weeks. The more Hermione read, the more Hermione felt ill at what her friend was having to go through, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt fuelled to search for any clue as to how to get him out of there.

It wasn't fair. This was meant to be the times when they could all get on with their lives- when Voldemort was dead and buried and just a horrible memory. And she and Ron could get married, and Harry and Ginny could be together, and they could all finish their schooling, and find their perfect jobs and…

Life wasn't fair. And, it seemed, life had a particular grudge against Harry Potter. She only hoped that Harry hadn't given up yet. Not like the rest of the Wizarding world had. That he was still fighting, however limited it was in Azkaban. He was possibly the strongest person she knew, but Hermione didn't know if anyone was strong enough to do this.

But whilst the rest of the Wizarding world seemed to have given up all hope, and maybe even Harry had, Hermione was certainly not prepared to do so. Not yet anyway.

Not till she got Harry Potter back home at least.

Life was broken down into a series of moments. Some so drenched in evil, in fear, in horror, that it made his stomach turn even now, even with time making them but mere memories in his mind. Of course, there were a precious few that were happy, some that, even now, could touch him in places long hidden, almost like a whisper caressing his soul. That could bring a smile unbidden to his lips. That could make his heart want to beat, his soul want to live. That could fill him with hope. A hope so potent that he could almost forget about the cell, about the continuous itching under his skin, about the upcoming trial.

Unfortunately those moments were becoming harder to recall. The bad memories, the evil that had so profoundly touched his life: that was always there, just under his skin, forever ready to fill his mind with doubt, with fear. A horror that made his breath come in short sharp gasps. For a cold sweat to break out making him shiver. For his heart to hammer painfully hard inside his chest all fuelled by the contained magic that would latch onto any emotion and amplify the affects ten fold till Harry Potter simply wished to die.

Of course there were times when his mind could be wrapped around an abject terror only to be brought up short by a single image, a single, overwhelming feeling. Perhaps the sound of phoenix song, so effective in the graveyard when Voldemort had risen from the cauldron. Perhaps the feel of wind whipping his hair, not as he stood on the hillside, waiting for the final call, but with a broom between his legs, and his eyes clamped on the snitch. Perhaps a flash of red, the colour of blood spread across many fields of dying, turning to a memory of sun flashing against red hair. And then, and then, for the briefest moment, for the longest moment, his heart slowed to normal, his breathing was easy, his skin felt wonderfully cool. And for a moment his magic would work with him, rather than against him, filling him with hope, filling him with desire, filling him with a longing to be alive.

A single moment, perhaps, but enough, just enough to get through another minute, another hour, even another day of the containment, the will to get through another moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. For everyone that has reviewed, my hearty thanks to all, they mean a lot. I hope I am not disappointing you. Please accept my apologies for the likely delay between this and the next chapter: work is hectic, but rest assured, there will be more.

Percy Weasley stood, looking at the young man in the cell for a long time. Just looking. Taking in the messy black hair, the emerald eyes, the way his robe fell off his too thin frame. The deep sores just visible under his sleeve where he'd scratched until he bled, and then scratched some more. Percy Weasley stood, and watched, and felt an uncomfortable lurch of guilt in his abdomen that it had come to this.

He looked at the young man, and remembered. Remembered years ago when the man had been just a boy. A boy with a shock of messy hair, those piercing green eyes, his frame even then too thin. Undernourished. An orphan. Friend of Ron. Ginny's first crush. A young boy, who even then seemed to have an uncanny knack of being in the eye of any storm of trouble brewing near him.

Percy Weasley hadn't believed Harry when he said that Voldemort had returned. Maybe it was because he simply didn't want to believe it. Or more likely he had simply been too selfish to even conceive the idea as possible. He wanted a career- Fudge seemed the best way to advance that career. Unfortunately Fudge didn't see that Voldemort being back, even if it was possibly true, was news that should be made public. He tried to discredit Harry, Dumbledore, anything about Voldemort's rising, and Percy had gone with it. Given up his family, his friends, everything in the pursuit of a career that had fallen even quicker than it had risen.

And it was in the ruins of his career that Percy Weasley had met Casper Williams. Amiable enough bloke, but in his presence Percy felt strange. He realised, when he looked at Casper Williams how very much they were alike, and how much he despised that. It was like looking in a mirror, and Percy did not like the reflection it gave. Casper Williams had offered him a job in his new Ministry. A good job, really. Assistant in the department of Transportation. Not quite up there with Junior undersecretary to the Minister, but it was still a job, in the ministry. Percy Weasley should have been happy.

And yet, Percy Weasley was not. He'd tried. He still had his apartment in London. He still had a circle of associates from the ministry. He still had his job when much of the Wizarding world struggled to even get one of those. But Percy Weasley was far from happy. Percy Weasley was a lonely, miserable man, with a massive hole he just couldn't fill in his life.

Until he'd said hello to his father at work. Until he'd popped into see Fred and George at their shop. Until he'd gone home, tail between his legs, ready to beg his mother to forgive him for being so stupid. Pride really did come before a fall, and Percy had suffered the biggest of these. But the Weasley family, for what they lacked in money more than made up for in love, and this included their wayward son. Mrs Weasley hadn't asked for an apology, even though Percy had given more than one. She hadn't even asked for an explanation. Instead she had put her arms around him, brought him near and cried solidly for half an hour on his shoulder.

And now he was here. On ministry business of course. Ostensibly he was there to inspect the prison and its transports links. He was actually there to apologise to Harry Potter.

He rapped on the bars, watching as Harry jumped. Percy wasn't sure if the surprise on his face was because of who was knocking on the bars, or just the fact that anyone was knocking on his bars. Percy knew it had been at least six weeks since another soul had been to visit. He beckoned Harry over, watching the debate play out on Harry's face as to whether to follow or not. 'Harry, I'm sorry' were the first words out of Percy's mouth.

Harry merely nodded.

'I can't stay long. I'm not meant to be here at all.'

Again, a single nod to his words.

'How are you holding up?' Percy asked lamely. He could see how he was holding up, and it wasn't very well. His question, however, brought a spark of humour briefly to Harry's eyes.

'Harry, I need you to know that I'm sorry. The others, mum, dad, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, everyone…they would be here if they could.' Percy had a pleading quality to his voice, wanting Harry to understand that although it was Percy that was there, he came as a representative of the Weasley family.

The sound of a cell door crashing closed near by made him jump. He stepped closer to the bars, his voice more urgent. 'The trail is in three days, Harry. You're to appear before the Wizengamont on the charge of using an unforgivable against another wizard. Casper Williams is convinced that putting you away will somehow heal society- obviously he is much mistaken but the public, unfortunately, believe him. There is nothing in law to say that you have to have representation- however, we will have one on hand, ready, should you want one for your use. I don't know how they will attack you, Harry, what evidence they can use. But you must stand firm. I'm not an expert in law, Harry, but Hermione's been reading, and she believes the best you can do is claim self defence. She doesn't think bringing up the prophecy will help, but it's likely it'll come up anyway.' Percy's words were coming out in a tumble now, trying to say as much as he could in the shortest amount of time so as not to raise any suspicions back at the ministry. 'Hermione says the best you can do is point out that Voldemort struck with the Killing curse first, and you were simply reacting to that. She doesn't know what impact it will make, but you could point out to the court that it wasn't the killing curse you cast, although she said how much you reveal is up to you.'

Faster and faster the words came, pouring out under the pressure of time. 'One other big problem is that your magic has been contained for so long. You have to remain in control at all time! You have to bring it under your control. It's going to be difficult, but it is imperative you must not lose control, however much you want-'

'Percy.' The voice was merely a whisper, a croak, but it stopped him in his tracks. He looked up at the emerald green eyes that stared at him in wonder almost. Percy realised how long it had been since Harry had had any human contact, that even he was looking good at the moment. 'Thank you.' He said, simply, truthfully. 'Thank everyone.' And Harry stepped back from the bar, as a door opened down the corridor. Percy whispered goodbye, stealing a last glance, a quick grin at Harry before he stepped back himself, walking quickly up the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing into the maze of Azkaban before it could be discovered with whom he had been speaking. 'No, thank you, Harry Potter.' Percy whispered as he slipped away.

There was smoke everywhere, catching in his throat, blinding him. He knew that Voldemort was out there somewhere- he could feel him. The pain in his scar prickled violently, his head aching as he maintained full occlumency shields. A dark evil seemed to permeate the very air all around. It was ironic, that the site of the final battle should boil down to the very place where Voldemort was not only born, but had been risen again using Harry's own blood. Around him, bodies seemed to litter the graveyard. Both death eaters and the order's own had fallen, a bloody end to a bloody war. Now Harry stood alone, looking evil in the eye, face to face with the man that had caused so much destruction. For he was just a man, now. Lord Voldemort had fallen with the destruction of the Horcruxes, and Tom Riddle stood in his place, also alone.

When Harry thought back now, it was almost with a hazy recollection. He dreamt often, about the cloying smoke, or the pain of the many curses he'd already had to endure, or of watching Tom Riddle crumple. It was ironic that of all the men and women killed that night, both from Tom's own or the order, the only person brought to trial that Harry knew about, was himself. Of all the good people murdered that night, the one who had caused so much terror, and destruction, that had taken so many lives, was the only life considered worth prosecuting over.

Harry wasn't a fool. He knew he wasn't any better than anyone else. That he wasn't more powerful than anyone else, whatever the jokes at the _Prophet_ wanted to believe. He just happened to be born with the fall of July, an infant touched by a curse that he couldn't even fully recall. He'd had trials in life like everyone else. Had to choose his own life's path like everyone else. Had been responsible for the death of another. Whatever choices he had made, whatever life had thrown at him, he'd somehow managed to get through it. But now he was feeling desperate. There didn't seem to be any options here, any way out. His luck, it seemed, after all this time was finally running out. There was no clever Hermione finding solutions, or Ron, game for anything standing by his side. This time he was alone, and hurting, and not able to see a way out of the mess that life had currently presented to him.

He was truly desperate.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN- Here it is, Folks. The start of the long awaited trial. Forgive me for the shortness of the chapter, but work is horrendous. More will follow as quickly as I can write it! Disclaimer in previous chapters. _

_And, as always, reviews are always welcome, and have certainly been brightening up my days recently._

Remus Lupin felt like an old man. His reflection in the mirror certainly supported the feeling; his once brown hair was greying fast, wrinkles seemed to appear daily. His eyes spoke of a life lived. A knowledge learned. A past to regret. The monthly torture of turning into a wolf had taken its toll. His muscles hurt, his joints ached. At times he didn't want to get out of bed of a morning. Sometimes he couldn't make himself go to bed in the first place.

And he felt too old to sit in the stands of the Wizengamot, and watch Harry Potter once again become a victim of the Ministry of Magic. He looked around him, letting the noise of hundreds of people filter through him, the sounds of excited conversation filling the air. The stands where Remus Lupin sat were filled to bursting, people had queued overnight to get a seat. The press area was so full reporters were standing flanking the walls to bear witness to arguably the most sensational trial of all times.

Remus doubted even having Voldemort on trail would have garnered the same interest. It was ironic, Remus thought bitterly, that the death of the one who had been the catalyst for all this meant he could never stand trial himself, and yet his death was the very reason for the trial now.

It had been a long ten weeks since that "final battle", and yet to Remus it sometimes felt like that had just been the beginning. The very reason for the war lay dead and cremated, and yet it was still destroying people's lives and livelihoods. Remus sought out Casper Williams, the Minister for Magic sitting plum in the centre of the judgement table, and felt only anger and loathing for the man. Instead of revelling in peace and trying to rebuild the fractured Wizarding community, he continued to exploit the past as a reason to continue living in fear. His laws had touched directly on Remus in more ways than just having the nightmare of Harry languishing in Azkaban. His Control of Non Humans law meant Remus had to register all his movements with the ministry, and have them personally approved by the Head of Non Human Control.

Remus forced himself to look away from the pompous Minister, currently holding court, laughing jovially with the other members of the Wizengamot, and look around for other familiar faces in the crowds. The Weasley family were easy to spot, all red haired and pale, drawn faces. As Harry's self-appointed "family" they might not have been allowed in Azkaban, but it hadn't stopped them supporting Harry. Next to Ron, at the end of the row of Weasleys sat Hermione Granger. Feeling eyes on her, perhaps, she looked round directly at him, forcing a smile onto her lips in greeting. Remus returned the greeting with a nod and a half smile of his own. Hermione, he knew, had suffered directly under the new minister. She was a muggle born witch, and although the Ministry had never stooped so low as to condemn all muggle borns, a few well placed articles in the Prophet in recent times had increased the suspicion of anyone that wasn't born into a Wizarding family. She was unable to get a job in the Wizarding world. Even the Ministry, to which Hermione had applied in desperation, had claimed to have no jobs. (Being well known as one of Harry Potter's best friends probably didn't help matters.) Even now, it was easy to spot the unease with which people were viewing Hermione, especially sat as she was next to one of the most prominent pure blood Wizarding families left. Hermione, he knew, was ignoring the lot of them, but Ron, sat next to her and holding her hand in a, what looked like, a death grip was obviously finding it harder.

The Weasleys were a contradiction to the rule, though. While the Wizarding world struggled, the once poor family could now be considered, well, rich in comparison. Even as out spoken supporters of Harry Potter, Casper Williams had been unable to oust Arthur and Percy from the ministry. In fact, with the Ministry in such disarray after the war, both had done rather well in their current positions. It helped that both had played key, and rather public, roles in Voldemort's down fall. And while people might have turned on Harry quicker than milk left out on a summers day, they were still glad that Voldemort was gone. Bill had gone back to Egypt to work, and Charlie, still in Romania had never really been touched by the problems back in England. It didn't stop them both being here now, however, showing their full support.

The twins, Fred and George, might have been forced out of the shop when Diagon Ally was closed down, but it hadn't been the end of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was, by all accounts, a fully thriving mail order company, and both Ron and Ginny were fully employed along with several others. Harry had been right, all those years ago, when he thought that people would still need a laugh during the times of war.

Molly Weasley sat in the centre of the Weasley's. Her hair looked to have greyed in the past few months, a few more worry lines joining those on her face. The look on her face was fierce. One of her own was in trouble, and Molly was in full protection mode. Remus didn't have to sit any closer to see the tell tale signs that the tears hadn't long stopped falling.

Remus's attention was caught in his wonderings, along with every single other person's in the courtroom, when a whiring began, the sound of a prisoner being brought up through the floor in the centre of the room. Remus felt the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding leave in a gasp as he caught his first glance of the prisoner Harry Potter.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you to all the people that have reviewed. I've enjoyed reading them all- and I hope that you'll all enjoy (and continue to review!) this new chapter. Same disclaimers apply._

Harry saw the bright lights of the court room above, and almost bit through his lip as his magical energy, confined for so long soared with joy at being allowed sudden freedom. Harry shut his eyes against the bright lights, still seeing spots of colour on the back of his eye lids as he desperately, desperately held close to his magic. Percy's words came flooding back to him. He must control his magic. But after being confined for so long, his magic didn't want to be controlled and pushed against every fibre of his being to be allowed to escape. Harry clamped down hard, using all the skills of occlumency he'd finally mastered to stop the tide, forcefully, painfully stopping the magic in its tracks. His skin crawled painfully, making Harry want to scratch desperately at his already broken skin. His stomach twisted itself into a painful knot, and for a moment Harry didn't just have to fight with his magic, he had to fight with the nausea that threatened to choke him with bile. It took every bit of energy that Harry possessed to not let his magic out in one torrential torrent, and Hermione, watching him fearfully, nails digging deep gouges into Ron's palm whispered continued encouragement, knowing he couldn't hear her, but trying to will him into passivity all the same. She had felt the frisson of energy rush through the courtroom, perhaps more than most because she had been expecting it. She knew that it was dangerous to contain any person's magic, for even a few days. The weeks that Harry had had to endure had built his levels to a dangerous level, where even a simple expelliarmus spell would have probably brought the roof of the building down.

Casper Williams sat at the head of the Wizengamot, smiling with satisfaction as he watched the struggle Harry was having to put up to keep a check on his magic.

Had he known what the force field did? Casper Williams prided himself on always having a ready plan. He'd got twelve OWLs. Passed the NEWTs with flying colours. Been highly trained in the ministry, always on the fast track, never slowing for anyone. And he'd become the youngest Minister for Magic the Wizarding world had had. Except to be the Minister wasn't enough, anymore. He'd needed a new plan. A plan to make him the leader of the Wizarding world. A plan to make him the person that everyone looked up to. And the way he saw it, there was one person who stood in the way. Death was out of the option- Harry Potter would still be regarded for all time as a hero. Shipping him off to a new country. Hounding him day and night to insanity by the press. Each had their merits. But Casper Williams didn't just want Harry Potter gone. He wanted Harry Potter to be disgraced. He wanted the very name Harry Potter to be scorned, ridiculed. He wanted Harry Potter to be shamed, derided.

But how to disgrace the great Harry Potter?

First, take away the notion of him ever being a hero and arrest him for casting an Unforgivable.

Take away the image of a saviour, and replace it with a young, lost boy, looking for attention, and causing the downfall of Wizarding Society.

Take away the image of innocence, and cause fear to be cast at the very mention of the name Harry Potter.

And finally, pit him against his own great power. Make his own magic work against him; make him look insane in front of the braying crowds. Of course Casper Williams knew what the forcefield did. After all, he was always a man with a plan.

To the left of Casper Williams, an assistant stood up, casting sonorous on his voice before addressing the raucous crowds. 'Wizards and Witches, please be upstanding for the Minister of Magic, and the current leader of the Wizengamot Casper Williams.'

Casper Williams rose to his feet, as there was a loud clatter of chairs being pushed back and almost as one the crowds clambered to their feet. There was a loud clatter of applause, a few cheers, and Casper Williams, Minster for Magic, raised his arms, smiling in welcome.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, witches and wizards, thank you.' He spoke, his voice smooth, rich and refined from his time in France and the crowd hung on his every word. 'Thank you for being in attendance as we seek to bring justice back into this world.' Another round of applause, and Casper Williams waited patiently, discreetly watching as Harry Potter struggled even more to cope with his imploding magic as the noise level rose and fell. 'Today, for the first time, a mercenary is on trial for crimes committed in the second war. Harry Potter-' (dead silence followed the name, which Casper Williams took as a good sign) 'acted against sanctioned Ministry protocol to cast an Unforgivable against another wizard.'

'Rubbish!' The voice came from the back of the court, startling everyone. 'Harry Potter acted-' but nothing followed, as the protester was quickly surrounded by guards and forced from the room.

'As I was saying,' Casper Williams smoothly carried on as if there hadn't been an interruption, 'this court session will follow Ministry protocol. Starting today, the evidence in prosecution for the crimes aforementioned will be offered before the Wizengamot. Following this, a Wizengamot appointed official will question the defendant. Finally, the defendant will be allowed to speak on his own defence. Then the Wizengamot will have an open vote on the guilt of the defendant. Sentencing, if the defendant is found guilty, will follow.'

The crowd were nodding now. This was how it was to be. Casper Williams allowed an indulgent smile to grace his face, a glance, quickly missed by the large crowds, of triumph shot in the direction of the defendant.

Harry remembered the first time he'd seen the current Minster for Magic. It had been a chance meeting, actually, back in his second year, the year he'd stumbled out of a floo a stop too late and had ended up wandering Knockturn Alley. Casper Williams had been stood outside one of the shops, thumbing through a second hand book collection. It had taken him an age to remember that. But then, he'd had a lot of time to think, recently. The first time he'd spoken to him had been barely a week before his arrest. Casper Williams had congratulated him then. On his "swift resolution of You Know Who". Harry had thanked him politely.

He'd seen him a few times after his arrest, whilst he was confined in Azkaban waiting for the trial. They'd never spoken. Casper Williams had just stood, half hidden in the shadows, that same look of triumph gracing his face. Smug git. The roar of approval of his magic to his feelings made him almost melt the metal cage he stood in.

A healer from St Mungos was first on the stand. Detailing the injuries sustained by Voldemort. Or He Who Must Never Be Named Just In Case His Combusted Ass Suddenly Should Un-Combust. A wand expert followed, waving around Harry's favourite possession, his wand, making up all sorts of words to sound important and worthy of a place on the stand.

What soon became obvious was the lack of information they had about the curse that had finally killed Voldemort. Ronald Weasley had to smile about that one. That was because the curse didn't exist, outside of Hermione's researching skills, and the mind of Harry Potter. He didn't pay much attention to the "experts". Hermione, he knew, would fill him in on the highlights later. He looked down at his hand, which Hermione still clung to in desperation. He wondered if the feeling would ever return to the tips of his fingers.

He couldn't see Harry clearly. The familiar shock of untidy black hair, the tattered, dirtied robes hanging from a gaunt frame. He couldn't see his face. Couldn't meet his eye. Couldn't give him a look to convey how he, Ron, had never believed the sanctimonious twittering of the stupid git, or Minister of Magic as he was more widely known as, Casper William.

Couldn't just try and share in his pain somehow, shoulder some of it himself, help out his best friend. It wasn't fair. He and Hermione might not have stood on the field before Voldemort. They might not have fought the dark lord, or pointed a wand at him, or whispered a curse. But they'd been there. They had stayed up night after night, week after week, researching anything, anything that might just kill Voldemort. They had been there with the copious amounts of caffeine, hidden under the too small invisibility cloak, giggling, and not sure why they were giggling, but giggling was better than crying. While they hadn't been the ones to curse Voldemort (well, not with a wand, anyway) they'd both been just as involved, just as guilty as Harry was, if that was the way their esteemed leader wanted it. But neither of them was Harry Potter. Neither of them was the Boy Who Lived. Or the Boy Who Had Cursed The Living Daylights Out Of He Who Must Never Be Named Because Didn't You Know That Saying His Name Was So Bloody Dangerous?

No, they were just the sidekicks. Harry Potter on the stand was the real prize. Ron just got Hermione's nails scored into his palms, and a bitter helplessness that he could be so involved and yet now couldn't do a bloody thing about it.

Rubbish. It was all Rubbish. Clever, maybe. Very clever. But rubbish all the same. Because what do you do when the defendant didn't actually cast the spell he is accused of? Make up a load of tosh instead to make the spell seem so much worse that the worst unforgivable.

Of course there were spells that were dangerous. Used out of context, used in the wrong situation, used for spite, any spell had the potential to be dangerous. Why, they, or Ron anyway, had managed to knock out a troll with a Wingardium Leviosa. In the first year.

And of course there were some really dangerous spells, that whilst weren't considered unforgivable, they could still kill, or significantly hurt someone. During their research Hermione had been horrified by some of the spells she had seen, their effect on people. And here were all these specialists, standing there stating that this spell, although not one of the Unforgivables, was so much worse than all of these spells combined. And whilst they didn't want to go into detail of such a spell, because, you know, it was far too dangerous and all that, yet, the spell had certainly been deadly. And the caster of such a spell? Well he couldn't be good and have so much power, surely.

Ironic really, that the spell, as they called it, didn't really exist, as such. Although Hermione reckoned that probably wouldn't really help in the situation. The spell that had destroyed Voldemort's soul. Exploded it into a thousand pieces. Wasn't really a bad spell as such. It only worked so well because Voldemort had so little soul left to destroy after splitting it into all those Horcruxes. And once his soul was destroyed, it really hadn't been much extra to destroy his body as well.

What did these people want? A nice peaceful situation. How did you negotiate with someone who was so keen to kill everyone? How did you find a peaceful ending when someone like Voldemort is bringing a reign of terror against everybody and everything? They had already closed down the floo system. They had already stopped apparation outside of guaranteed points. They had already closed Hogwarts, ceased trading at Diagon Alley, closed Gringotts down, boarded up Hogsmeade. They had already made so many concessions to Voldemort, and yet, did they really think there was going to be a peaceful solution after that? A way to negotiate?

Yes, you can kill all the muggles in the world, but leave the wizards alone.

Ok, you can have the muggle borns too.

Okay, we'll change our laws to meet your needs. If only, you know, you'll stop killing so many people and casting that awful dark mark into the sky.

We'll change our way of life…oh, yeah, we already done that one.

Hermione lay in bed, a sarcastic laugh bubbling in the back of her throat as tears pooled at the edge of her eyes. And tomorrow there would be the psychologist, there would be the Dark Arts specialist. The head auror. The janitor. On and on, bamboozling the people with jargon, stretching out the time Harry had to sit there, controlling his magic, until the inevitable happened and that control slipped just a little, and they really did have a legitimate reason to bound Harry over to Azkaban.


	7. Chapter 7

This is the penultimate part- (not counting the prologue) when the trial really gets juicy. Thanks for sticking by the story, and especially to everyone that has taken the time to review- I've loved receiving every one. Disclaimer in earlier parts.

The prosecution somehow managed to make their case last five days. Five days of mostly boredom for the watching crowds. Five days of hell for Harry, each day returning to the confinement of Azkaban, each day his magic a little worse, a little harder to control until Harry had a constant migraine, the itching enough on its own to drive him crazy, his stomach now so full of knots that he had a hard time keeping even water down. If he had been wondering how Casper Williams planned to get a guilty verdict on him, the plan was becoming clearer every day. He was either trying to bore the Wizengamot into a guilty verdict just to get out of the trial, or Harry would kill one of them with an uncontrollable surge of magic. If he were really lucky, he'd hit the big pompous git in the middle with the smug smile on his lips. That thought wasn't very good, though. His magic liked that thought. It surged its approval, always trying to get out, always trying to get free.

But if Harry thought that the worst was over, he was in for a shock. On the six day of the trial, after a torturous weekend spent once more in his cell, the pompous git got to his feet, again. The roar of approval from his magic, on having an even bigger target to aim at saw Harry gritting his teeth till he wondered if it was possible to break his own jaw.

Then the pompous git decided to speak. To address Harry. Looking expectant that Harry would answer. The smile he had when he looked at Harry, though was anything but expectant. Harry realised with a jolt that he wasn't really expected to answer. In fact, Casper Williams looked like he was expecting only self-recriminating silence from Harry. He asked the question again, forcing Harry to listen to his voice again, as the rest of the supreme members of the Wizengamot looked on with expectation.

'Mr Potter, I asked do you understand what I have just told you?'

Harry wondered what he was meant to have understood, but forced himself to nod, anyway.

'Good, then as we are all in agreement, as the elected speaker for the Wizengamot, I will begin with the questioning.'

Harry almost groaned. This could not be good. The man he so hated presenting the questions to him. When Harry could barely concentrate. When he could barely remember his own name because all his concentration was going on not letting his magic find a way through.

'Did you murder Tom Riddle?'

Who the hell was Tom Riddle when he was at home? Oh yeah. "I am Lord Voldemort" without the middle name.

He must have taken too long, however, because Lord Williams, ahem, Casper Williams was smiling patronisingly at him again.

'Did you,' he asked, speaking slowly, 'or did you not go out to deliberately murder Tom Riddle?'

Harry cleared his throat. Then did it again. His throat was too dry. His head ached. But he knew he had to answer. He knew he couldn't spend any more time in Azkaban than was necessary. He cleared it again, finally managing to make a sound with a throat that really didn't want to work. 'I went out there to put a stop to Lord Voldemort.'

Behind him, the entire court winced as one at the sound of the name. Harry, with a view only of the members of the Wizengamot was no longer surprised when they too winced.

'Tom Riddle was already dead.' He added.

The smile was certainly gone. Instead, Casper Williams was giving him a hard stare.

'And you thought you were somehow better than the Ministry?'

The smile was unexpected, feeling unnatural to his lips; more than a little bitter. Feeling foreign after so long. 'The same Ministry who refused to believe that Voldemort had risen again? For a whole year?'

'I cannot speak on behalf of previous Ministers.' Casper Williams said with an oily smile. 'But even after the Ministry fully reacted to his presence, did you not still refuse to work in partnership with the Ministry?'

'I was never asked to work _with_ the Ministry.' Harry said softly.

'You were approached several times by Rufus Scrimgeour.' Casper Williams corrected, sounding patronising.

'To be their poster child, maybe.'

For a moment, there was silence.

'After all, I was the Chosen One.' Harry added as an after thought, his tone mocking.

'Ah yes, the Chosen One.' Casper Williams echoed, his voice perfectly mocking as well. 'You were the subject of a prophecy.' His tone was rhetoric.

Harry answered anyway. 'Several, actually.' He corrected.

'What did the prophecy say. The one that addressed you and Tom Riddle?' Casper Williams quickly clarified.

'The prophecy was housed at your Ministry.' Harry pointed out.

'The prophecy was destroyed, as you well know, in a fight at the Ministry between you and some death eaters.'

'What makes you think I know what the prophecy said, then?'

'Because Dumbledore made the recording, and as everyone is well aware, you were Dumbledore's man to the end.'

A cold rush of anger spread like wildfire through Harry at the disdainful tone to the Minister's voice when he dared say Dumbledore's name. His magic gave a leap of joy, pushing against its boundaries once more. Harry calmed it with trouble.

'Dumbledore was a great wizard.' He finally managed to say aloud.

'Who died at the hands of one of his teachers.' Casper Williams pointed out casually.

'He died doing something he believed in.' Harry said coldly.

'What did the prophecy say?' Casper Williams said harshly.

'Why do you want to know so badly?' Harry countered. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…_

'What is it you want to hide so badly?'

'What bearing does it have on this case?' _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_

'It's funny, Mr Potter. Anyone else would view their actions as…justifiable if taken as a result of a spoken prophecy.'

'My actions were my own.' _and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…_

'So you deny ever hearing the prophecy?' Casper Williams asked, disbelieving.

'I never denied it.' and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. 'But I never used it as an excuse, either.'

'I'm confused, Mr Potter. If it wasn't because of a prophecy, then why did you feel it was your job to go and vanquish Tom Riddle?'

Harry caught the wording, and looked up sharply at Minister Williams. 'Because he killed my parents? Because he tried to kill me, my friends? Because he tried to destroy everything I believed in? Isn't that enough?'

'Do you regard yourself as a hero, Mr Potter?'

'No.' But he did want to know when a hero was going to be along to save him.

'You never regarded yourself as above other people? As better than other people?'

'No.'

'You never entered the tri-wizard cup three years before you were meant to because you thought you could do it anyway?'

'Actually, one of Voldemort's,' (again, a large wince) 'death eaters entered me.'

'You never tried to play on your hero status? Never tried to win points for it? You were the Boy Who Lived!'

'Yeah, now I'm the Boy In Azkaban.' Harry said sardonically. 'It's just a label.'

Casper Williams went to comment further, goad him further, but Harry beat him to the questions. 'Should I stand and be punished for what I did back then, as well?'

'What?' Casper Williams asked, clearly caught off guard.

'You know- what I managed to do as a baby.'

'No, of course not.' Casper Williams sounded impatient.

'Why not? I as much as killed him back then. Or maybe I should be prosecuted for not finishing him properly?'

'Mr Potter-'

'You know, for not killing him outright, because then, then he wouldn't have risen again.'

'Mr Potter-'

'Or maybe I should be punished for giving my blood for his resurrection' A look of surprise crossed Casper Williams, and many of the Wizengamot members' faces- 'oh sorry, weren't you aware of that? Yeah, Voldemort needed my blood to rise again.'

'Mr Potter, don't forget to whom you are-'

'Speaking to?' Harry asked dryly. 'Don't worry, I won't.'

The court was slightly calmer after a break, a post lunch lull filled the courtroom. Casper Williams again stood. He looked suitably stylish that day- dark pinstripe robes, hair neat and tidy, white teeth showing through each patronising smile. Harry wore his prison robes, tattered and ripped where Harry had spent too long desperately trying to scratch the unscratchable. His hair, never neat at the best of times, was too long and unbrushed, easily covering the famous scar at least. Harry wondered what Mrs Weasley would have to say on it.

Casper Williams easily got the attention of the court before looking down at Harry. 'Who were you to decide You Know Who's guilt?'

'Who are you to decide mine?'

'This is the official Wizengamot- we are set up to provide justice to the Wizarding world.'

'And there was a war going on- one where Voldemort was more than just a soldier. He didn't just kill people, he made a sport out of terrorising them.'

'Do you have proof of this?'

'He killed my mum and dad, didn't he?'

'The punishment for the use of an Unforgivable is a life sentence in Azkaban.'

'And when were you planning to catch Voldemort to put him on trial?'

'That is why we have an Auror department.'

'Which wasn't being all that successful. Even in the first war, Voldemort's power was so superior that the use of the Unforgivables were allowed by your Auror department.'

'And yet when I last checked you are a seventeen year old school boy, not a highly trained Auror.'

'I think you'll find that I'm not a school boy- the gates of Hogwarts are still closed, are they not? I may not be an Auror- but I have stood up to Voldemort before, and lived to tell the tale.'

'And yet you are strangely quiet about what happened the night Tom Riddle died.'

He remained quiet now. He wasn't about to implicate his best friends in anything.

'Shall I tell you what I thing happened that night?' Casper Williams carried on. 'You went to Little Hangleton the night before. You hid out in the graveyard and you waited. You knew Tom Riddle was going to come because you sent a message to lure him there, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist. You waited, and when he came you killed him with a single spell. That is pre-meditated murder.'

Harry thought condensing the entire terrifying evening into a few seconds of speech was a bit much, but didn't move to correct the Minister, not then anyway.

'How did you convince the Order of the Phoenix to help?' Casper asked.

Well that hadn't been hard. The whole order was there for the very act of destroying Voldemort and his death eaters. 'We had a tip.' Harry eventually said quietly.

'A tip…?'

'We were told that Voldemort was having an…initiation ceremony that night in the graveyard.'

'And who was this tip from?'

Harry shrugged, jarring his shoulder joint painfully. 'It was anonymous.'

'Did you get a lot of tips?'

'The Order did, yes.'

'Did you go out on many of them?'

'Sometimes. If I was around.'

'What was different about this tip?'

'Only that it turned out to be actually true.'

'Were you prepared for that possibility?'

Harry didn't think answering that would be good, but didn't think he could lie. He'd been ready for weeks, after all. 'Yes.'

'Prepared to kill Tom Riddle?'

'Prepared to fight Voldemort.'

'Fight him how?'

'Duel him.' Harry answered with another shrug. Easier this time.

'Have you much practice at duelling, Mr Potter?'

'I've been taught by some of the best.' Harry said. And he had. There had never been a quiet moment at the Order headquarters. Harry probably had all the skills of an Auror, and a few more besides. Moody, it turned out, really was a good teacher.

'And the aim of the duel was to kill Voldemort. Murder him. Why didn't you inform the Ministry of this meeting before hand.'

Harry stared at the man for a long moment before answering. 'You knew!' He said incredulously.

Casper Williams was a talented actor. He stared right back at Harry, matching his expression perfectly. 'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'The tip came from the Ministry in the first place.'

'I'm confused, Mr Potter- didn't you just say that the tip was anonymous?'

'Yeah, the tip was, but it was passed through from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

'You must be confused, Mr Potter. I have heard, along with all the members of the Wizengamot, the testimony of the head Auror. The tip did not originate from any department within the Ministry of Magic.'

Harry pushed his glasses away from his eyes, rubbing briefly at them as he tried to think this through. It didn't help though. It just made the itching worse. 'Then I don't know where the tip originated from. That was what I'd been told.'

'There was no tip, was there Mr Potter? The "Order" was there because you commanded them there- in fact, wasn't it Tom Riddle that received the tip about that night, from you.'

'No.'

'In fact, didn't he walk straight into your trap, that night, Mr Potter. Didn't he walk into that graveyard, alone, and get hit straight away by a curse from your wand? A curse that killed him.'

'Was that before or after he hit me with the cruciatus?' Harry asked dryly.

'So you say.' Casper Williams said slyly. 'You never submitted yourself for a medical following the act did you? In fact, isn't it true that after the murder, you had a large gathering, a celebration, some might call it.'

'I was alone that night, actually.' Harry said, quite truthfully.

This did seem to surprise the Minister.

'I went to Godric's Hollow to see my parents' grave.'

'Conscience getting to you? Guilt will do that to a man.'

'Actually I'd never been before. I never had a chance to.'

'Do you feel guilty for the murder?'

Harry wasn't stupid enough to answer that question.

'Do you feel regret, perhaps, over the circumstances.'

And he certainly wasn't going to answer that. Out loud, anyway.

'Mr Potter, your silence does not speak well for you.'

It is better to stay silent and have everyone think you're a fool, than open your mouth and confirm it. Harry didn't know where he'd heard that before. A muggle quote maybe.

'Mr Potter, may I remind you that the burden lies on you proving that you are innocent.'

'Why, because you can't prove my guilt?'

'We have already proved you killed Tom Riddle.'

'Yeah, and the whole world celebrated.'

'You have not provided any credible reason why you shouldn't go to Azkaban for a very long time.'

'I thought I was here under the charge of using an Unforgivable- which I didn't, and you can't prove.'

'What you did is still Unforgivable, even if not in name.'

'Do you know what's ironic, Mr Minister? You sound a lot like Fudge. You know- the Minister for Magic who denied- for a whole year- that Voldemort had risen again? You try and make out that actually maybe He wasn't all that bad. He killed over 500 people! He set giants out to destroy whole villages! He held muggles hostage to further his own gains. How many lives did he have to take to get you to call him evil?'

'And yet, it is you on the stand!'

'Yes, because you put me here!'

Harry knew he was close to losing it altogether, and the longer this went on, the longer he wondered if it would be so bad. He could suffer through a lifetime in Azkaban- however long that lifetime would be- suffering from the effects of magical containment. Or he could go out in a blaze of- well, it would make his magic happy, anyway.

'Mr Potter, how old were you when you went to Hogwarts?' The change of tact threw Harry off for a moment, taking him a moment to get his head around the question.

'I was eleven.'

'Is that when you first heard about Tom Riddle?'

'That's when I first heard about Voldemort.'

'Why have you always insisted on addressing him by his made up name? Did you believe that you were better than other people?'

'No- it's hard to fear a name that you've never heard before.'

'And yet, you perhaps had the most to fear. After all this was the same man who killed your parents in cold blood.'

'Well, at the time, everyone believed him dead.'

'And you? What did you believe?'

'I didn't particularly care, until he decided to take up one of my teachers as a host and get hold of the Philosopher's stone.'

'And of course, you were there to stop him.'

'Didn't seem particularly wise to let Voldemort get a hold of it.' Harry said, somewhat flippantly.

'When did you first hear of the prophecy?'

Harry didn't answer him straight away.

'About your fifth year, correct?'

'Are you asking me, or telling me?'

'That must have come as a shock. Hearing your whole life already told before you were even born.'

'It was a prophecy, not a life sentence.'

'The prophecy named you as the one to kill Tom Riddle, am I correct?'

'If I say yes, will you let me go? After all, by your reasoning, I had no other choice.'

'Did the prophecy name you?'

'No, it never named me.'

'And yet you took it upon yourself to-'

'I never took it upon myself to do anything because of some stupid prophecy that was made before I was even born. It didn't say I had to go out there and kill Voldemort. It didn't name me. It didn't even say how Voldemort could be killed. It could have been the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. But I denied the words of the prophecy. It wasn't telling the future- it was just giving a glimpse of what might become- and I wasn't about to let evil stand in the way of all that is good in this world. I could have walked away.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Because a great man once told me that I would have to choose between what was right and what was easy. And I chose what was right.'

'Ah, a great man. What other nuggets of philosophy did Dumbledore throw at you? Respect for authority perhaps?'

'I respect those who deserve my respect.'

'Do you think you should be respected- for what you have done?'

'That's not for me to decide.'

'For having enough power to destroy a dark lord with one curse.'

Harry looked on confused as to the meaning behind the man's words.

'Respect you, or fear you perhaps? Voldemort, by your own testament was powerful, and had many dark creatures at his disposal. And here you are, a seventeen year old school boy with enough power in you to kill such a man.'

Harry was shaking his head. He had the power because Voldemort had marked him that way. But somehow he couldn't get the words out, couldn't interrupt this time. Harry knew he wasn't powerful- certainly, he wasn't more powerful than Voldemort. He just had something that Voldemort would never have; the love of a mother who had died to protect him, and the support of some of the best friends he could ever ask for. And he had a willing to believe in hope. Hope that there was a future. Hope that one day it would be all over and he would be free from the fear of Voldemort.

Hope, it seemed, was an overrated concept.

And his magic, sensing his despair, perhaps, sensing the slip in concentration, at last found at outlet for its power.

'Do you feel betrayed by Dumbledore?'

Casper William's question struck deep in Harry's loosening will. 'No!' His grasp on the metal bars became harder and Harry wanted to shake them, shake some sense into the man who wouldn't stop the questions, wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted out of Harry. Harry wondered if Casper Williams knew what it was like to be struck by potent unrestrained magical energy. He wondered how much it would hurt.

'Betrayed by a man that played your life like a pawn.'

'No!' Because, really, it had to be worse than the cruciatus, didn't it?

'Dumbledore set you up-'

'No, he didn't!' hurt like he was making him hurt. Hurt him the way he'd made him hurt in Azkaban. Hurt him like the pain of memories, of the doubts of his actions, of the guilt over the death of another hurt him.

'and gave you no choice in the matter!'

'No' the bars were growing hot now, where Harry clung to them with all his strength.

'Dumbledore wasn't a great man.' Casper Williams mocked. 'He was just a manipulative old man. He abandoned you with your muggle relatives for eleven years because he didn't want to have to deal with you.'

'He believed it was best for me.'

'Best for you? They kept you in a cupboard most of the time, did they not?'

The bars were white hot to touch now, but Harry kept hold, couldn't let go, as his temper started to splinter, and his look refused to move from the Minister. 'He wanted me to grow up normal.'

'Dumbledore forgot about you! He forgot about you until he needed you again. He deserted you, waited till he had a use for you then threw you to the wolves. He sent you out on some wild hunt for Voldemort, because he couldn't do it himself.'

'That's right- he couldn't do it himself.' Harry yelled, the metal bars under his hands now bending under the strain, as Harry fought a losing battle with his temper. 'He couldn't kill Voldemort because only I could. Only I had the power. Voldemort killed my parents because he was coming after me- he believed that I was the only one who could kill him, and he wanted me dead. Instead though, he marked me. He marked me as the only one who could kill him, therefore proving the prophecy to be true. 'Dumbledore was the only one who knew the truth- one of the only ones who always believed in me no matter how much of a mess I made of things. Dumbledore was a great man.'

'And yet he died when you most needed him' Casper said with a cruel smile.

'He was killed.'

'Because he trusted in someone that should never have been trusted. Doesn't say much for his judgement, does it?'

'Everyone make's mistakes.'

'And tell me, Mr Potter. What's yours?'

'Believing that the world would be a better place with Voldemort gone.'

And in a second the anger was gone. The hurt, the guilt, his conscience was still there, but suddenly it was as if someone had physically taken away the anger, washed it out of his system. He reigned in control, belatedly realising that his hands burned where the metal had got so hot. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper, but carried easily to the very edges of the room. 'I thought that killing Voldemort would be the end. I thought that I would have a normal life. That was all I wanted. That was all Dumbledore wanted- for me to grow up normal- is that really so bad? I thought so at the time, but now…now I'm glad I at least had those years to try.

'I never wanted to be famous. I never wanted to be the Boy Who Lived. I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to have a mother and father I could go home to in the holidays. I wanted to worry about getting homework in on time, or the end of term exams. I didn't want to have Voldemort hunting me at every step. I didn't want to be the so called "Chosen One". I just wanted to be Harry Potter. Voldemort wouldn't let me.'

The whole court was silent now. And even the most stoically opposed person to the actions of Harry Potter suddenly saw things in a different light. They didn't see the power hungry Harry Potter that had been portrayed for so long. They saw a seventeen year old thrust into an adult world long before his time. Sent to rid the world of a darkness beyond black. And here they were putting him on trial for doing something they would have all liked to have had the courage to do: stand up against evil. Whatever the cost.


	8. Chapter 8

This is the final posting- the last chapter and prologue in one. More of my comments at the end.

It should have been easy. Get Harry Potter's magic to work against him. Show him for the power hungry wizard he was, and get him sent down for a lifetime in Azkaban. But Casper Williams hadn't counted in how strong Harry Potter's control was, how strong his desire for release was. He had done exactly what Voldemort had done so many times- he'd underestimated Harry Potter. And now he had only one last ditch attempt to get the plan back on track.

Harry knew it veritaserum that Casper Williams had slipped in the glass of water that he insisted the prisoner drink. Nothing else could taste so bitter sweet to his lips.

Casper Williams stood, looking around appraisingly at the people before him, before looking down at the prisoner at his feet, his face changing into a cruel smile. 'Mr Potter- it is time for you to address the Wizengamot. Please remember that anything you say can be used against you in the judgement proceedings. And your time limit is five minutes. Why don't you tell us what really happened the night Voldemort died?'

The words came unwillingly- too easily to his lips- his darkest desires, his deepest secrets. Fighting it was out of the question- he still had to control his magic somehow. Harry took a deep breath, and with difficulty clambered to his feet. He hadn't kneeled down to Voldemort, and he certainly wasn't going out that way now. The cage was no more than four feet in diameter, and Harry used the bars for support as his knees turned to jelly and he had to fight against gravity taking hold. He looked up at the Wizengamot. Not at Casper Williams, but at every other member, looking at them with a piercing stare that made more than one of them want to hide against the shame they suddenly felt.

'I killed Voldemort.'

The confession seemed to lighten the load slightly, and Harry found the strength to stand up straighter, taller in the confined space, accepting that this was his fate, this was his destiny, and this was his time to make people understand.

'It might have been that I was destined to kill Voldemort. In the end, it doesn't matter. I had to live with every life he took. And I have to live with the fact that I took his life in the end. Do you know what it's like to have blood on your hands? To want to claw off your own skin because maybe, just maybe, they might then be clean? I never killed for pleasure, or fun, or personal gain. I killed because it was the only choice I had left to take. And you know what? You all wanted me to do it. You set me up on a pedestal. I was the "Chosen One". You all championed my cause. You all celebrated my victory. You all thanked me at the time. But you watched me falter, and you didn't try and break the fall. I never asked to be a hero- but that was what you all wanted me to be- were you disappointed when you found out that I was as fallible as you?'

Harry pushed away from the bars now, finding strength in the honesty of his words- aided, yes, by a potion, but they came from the heart none the less. For the first time in a long time his magic worked through him, instead of against him, fuelling his heart's desire to make everyone understand.

'Give me the chance to do it over again- to live the same life, with the same choices, and I would still make the same ones. I would still make the same mistakes. I'm not asking for a second chance. Because while they might have been the wrong choices, I made them all for the right reasons.'

Harry looked directly at Casper Williams then. Feeling hate, yes, but feeling pity that the man wanted so badly to be recognised as a great man that he thought putting a seventeen year old on trial was a good idea. 'If putting me in Azkaban is going to make everyone feel happy again, make everyone feel safe, then go ahead. Lock me back in that cell, and throw away the key. If you think that somehow people are going to sleep better at night because I'm incarcerated then take me back there immediately. But you're a fool if you think that I have that much power over this world.

'You want to know how to start making things right again? Open Gringotts- let people have access to their money. Re-open Diagon Alley. Take the boards down from Hogsmeade. And open the gates of Hogwarts. Show people that there is a life worth living out there, and encourage them to start living it. Yes, people are scared. Hundreds of people died at His hand; our own flesh and blood were tortured and killed by him. But Voldemort's gone. All those people who died fighting for a cause they believed in- all those people that died standing up to Voldemort- was it all so that we can still live in fear of the past? He wanted us to live in fear. It's time to put him where he belongs in the past, and get on with our lives. So yes, you can imprison me, but people aren't going to start feeling safe again until you give them a reason to start living again.'

Harry turned then, for the first time the people who had watched avidly day in, day out the drama in the court got a proper look at the boy they had all come to mock. It wasn't a pleasant sight, and more than one wanted to recoil with guilt from his look. For a moment Harry was silent, his throat caught by a large lump as he took in the mass of red hair sat right in the middle of the viewing gallery. The lump only grew bigger when he noticed Hermione smiling at him, Ron giving him the thumbs up, Lupin looking proud of him. The more he looked, the more faces he saw that he recognised, and the more he realised that not everyone had abandoned him. But whilst there was no doubt that he had some supporters, Harry knew that the majority of people had been there to watch him suffer.

'Why do you insist on believing every word your beloved Daily Prophet says instead of believing the evidence of your very own eyes? The world is in chaos- and it's not just Voldemort's fault. Everyone of you still living in fear of the past is just as guilty. Voldemort tried to rule this world with fear; you made it a way of life. Voldemort's gone, people! The sooner you realise that and start living your lives again, the quicker you'll break this fear he still holds over you. Or are you going to let fear be Voldemort's legacy?'

Harry allowed himself one more glance at Hermione and Ron before turning back, facing the members of the Wizengamot, who were shocked to see a single tear track down his face, leaving a blazing red burn in its wake. He seemed to deflate before their eyes, his shoulders falling, his knees almost giving away. He looked once again directly at their leader, speaking only to him in a voice quiet with grief, easily carrying to the edges of the silent courtroom. 'And you know what the real irony here is, Minister? You did the one thing that Voldemort never managed. You didn't have to kill me- you took my life anyway.'

And for Casper Williams, perhaps for the first time, he saw the fault with his plan. He saw a seventeen year old boy that held more power over the courtroom full of people with his truthful words than he had ever managed in any of his speeches. And none of it had to do with his magic. He saw the problem with using veritaserum on Harry Potter. Because not being able to tell a lie only made his story more believable, more credible, and even more remarkable to hear.

Here was a boy who had conquered the Dark Lord. And every single person in that courtroom felt at least a little bit of guilt at having stood back and watched him take the fall for it alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Ah, the end is nigh… 

Epilogue _(Edited, as some very kind people pointed out privately that a prologue comes first, an epilogue comes after the story! Duh!)_

'We find the defendant, Mr Potter, not guilty on the charge of using an Unforgivable.'

Behind him, the unmistakable sound of a Weasley Whoop filled the courtroom. Harry could do nothing, but slump in his seat, his eyes closed, trying, for the desperate control of his magic, to ignore the din in the courtyard. He never saw the bars of his cage disappear. Or Casper Williams take one last disgusted look at him before quietly confirming he was free to leave, and making a quick exit out the back door. The first thing he was aware of was Hermione, quietly whispering in his ear. 'You're almost there, Harry. Let's get you out of here.'

Hermione must have spoken to the other Weasleys, because for then, anyway, they kept quiet, forming a formidable guard around him as Hermione and Ron helped him walk from the courtroom. The press were yelling, light bulbs popped, and all Harry wanted to do was to stop the mad itching, the pain of his tightly controlled magic once and for all. Only Hermione, whispering continued encouragement in his ear got him to the car safely.

The next few days were spent in relative luxury, or so it felt for Harry. The healers at St Mungo's were deeply disapproving of the methods of containment that Azkaban used, and were miraculous, at least to Harry, in safely leaching away the built up magic so Harry could safely relax again.

And then he was home, back at the Burrow, laughing for the first time at Mrs Weasley's shocked exclamations about the state of his hair.

So, is there a happy ever after for this story? It would be nice to think that it went that way, but this is life, and it's not as easy as abc.

Of course the press were still around. Following his every move. And the first question of everyone who met him was how did it feel to murder Voldemort. But Harry, whilst not liking it, could put up with it. He wasn't in Azkaban- for him, the best result he could have hoped for in the circumstances. He was back at the Burrow, under the mothering care of Mrs Weasley. Surrounded by his friends. In September he would be back at the reopened Hogwarts, under Headmistress McGonagall, to complete his seventh year with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. After that, who knew? But that was the best part- he had choices, he had a future. He had his hope.

The End Author's notes 

_Thank you for reading the complete story. I've read probably only a very small fraction of Harry Potter fanfics, being relatively new to the fandom. I've written a lot of fanfiction before, but this was my first complete HP one. I hope it wasn't a big let down. I know it's probably very tame compared to a lot of those out there. But I didn't want it to be some big betrayal fic- Hermione and Ron have stuck with him through everything, and I can't see them deserting him now. Mostly, this fiction was about the choices we make, the consequences to those actions and the part destiny plays in it all. _

_And while I didn't kill Casper Williams in the fic, I think he got his justice at least! Someone asked where the name is from- it's made up, but I was watching Casper the friendly ghost with my nieces and nephew before writing this!_

_Thanks to all the people that have reviewed- and especially to the people that reviewed every chapter- every review meant a lot to me._


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